“Guardian.” His voice resonated deep in Birlerion’s bones.
“The line protects,” she said in return, lifting her face towards him.
Jerrol bent his head, and their lips touched; the young girl jolted back with a gasp and fell to her knees.
The Lady’s euphoria resonated in his bones. Birlerion couldn’t help smiling in wonder as the girl braced herself as the Guardianship coursed through her body, relaxing as it settled as sloshing water stills in a cup. Joy transformed the girl’s face to an unworldly beauty as she lifted her face to the sentinals and bathed in the moon’s triumphant light. The Lady’s joy rang in Birlerion’s inner ear as his blood sang through his veins in counterpoint. A low murmur of voices stirred in surprise as if awoken out of deep sleep.
Birlerion watched Jerrol. “Are we done now, Captain?” he asked as he drew Zin’talia out into the moonlight.
“I sure hope so. This night has been plenty long enough for me.”
Birlerion glanced up as the air shimmered and a rare smile lit up his face. He held his hand out. “Did you hear the Lady?” he asked.
Jerrol gasped as a small black and white, cat-like creature appeared. It flipped its scaly wings back and wrapped its thin tail around Birlerion’s wrist. Birlerion ran a finger down its white chest.
“It’s real,” Jerrol gasped.
Birlerion smiled. “This is Lin. She’s an Arifel. One of the Lady’s messengers. They used to carry messages for the Guardians.”
Jerrol gaped at him. “It was you. At the palace. It’s been you all along, hasn’t it?”
Birlerion eased his shoulders. “As the Lady wills,” he murmured, dropping his face into the Arifel’s soft fur, luxuriating in the creature’s silky touch. The Arifel meeped and rubbed her face against Birlerion’s and then disappeared.
Jerrol helped Gilly to her feet. As he straightened, he realised a variation of his rangers uniform had replaced his grimy sheet. His jacket and trousers were a greyish green, which gave off a subtle sheen in the moonlight. The cloak was soft and fleecy warm, yet supple and not bulky. He knew if he saw himself in a mirror, he would be wearing the same uniform as Birlerion. He swallowed as a laughing voice breathed in his ear, “It’s a long time since I had the dressing of a ranger,” and faded away again.
“Come on, let’s get Gilly home. We can talk later.”
They escorted Gilly to the safety of her surprised father’s arms, stabled Zin’talia back in her stall in the still-standing barn, and then strolled up the high street towards the Black Hen.
“I wonder if Jennery had as exciting a night as we have,” Birlerion said with a happy grin. “He’s going to be annoyed he missed all the fun.”
“You never know, he might have found his own fun,” Jerrol said, surprised as Birlerion laughed. He blinked; the Sentinal laughed.
“Ha! I’ll bet it was nowhere near as exciting as ours: blazing fires, collapsing buildings, nearly getting burnt alive, the Lady’s grace. Nothing beats that.”
“Well, we’ll find out shortly. Here he comes now,” Jerrol said as Jennery came hurrying towards them.
Jennery looked as if he were bursting with news, but none of it good by his expression. “Jerrol! You’re not going to believe this.”
“Let’s get out of the street,” Jerrol said. “I doubt any of this is for general consumption.” He led the way back to their rooms at the inn. Once the door was shut behind them, Jennery fumbled to light the lantern with a spill from the banked fire.
“Don’t you use firesticks?” Birlerion asked, watching Jennery struggle.
“A what?” he asked as the wick finally caught.
“A firestick, you just strike it, no messing with spills or flints.”
Jerrol cleared his throat. “You’ll have to tell us about them another time. Safe to say, I am quite sure we don’t have them anymore.”
Birlerion stared at him. “I thought the flint was bad enough, but no firesticks? I thought it was because we weren’t in the city.”
“What’s wrong with a flint?” Jennery asked. “They may be expensive, but they are much faster. We’re lucky Jerrol has one.”
Jerrol laughed at Birlerion’s expression. “Jennery, report.”
Once Jennery was sure no one could overhear them, he dropped his voice and gave his report. “The blond-haired man accompanied the good Father, and they went straight to his home by the temple in the square. They didn’t take any side turns, didn’t stop at the temple, straight home. Five minutes after they arrived, they had a visitor. Tall, cloaked, appeared from nowhere, didn’t see him enter, no horse.
“The Father was very nervous around him, very obsequious. They spoke for maybe half an hour. Unfortunately, I couldn’t hear anything, and then the man left. Stepped into the dark and was gone. I couldn’t see a trace of him. It was like magic.
“The interesting thing is that the Father immediately began writing out notes as if passing on instructions. There were five, which he addressed and sealed. He left them on his desk and after he went up to bed, I, ah, let myself in and checked who they were addressed to. They were for the town councillors, all five. Here.” He handed over a sealed note.
“Won’t the Father miss one?” Birlerion asked.
Jennery shrugged. “He used a plain seal. It’s easy to reseal; he’ll never know.”
Jerrol tilted the note towards the light and inspected the writing on the front. It was addressed to Councillor Forbes. He broke the seal, trying to keep the damage to the minimum, and read the contents. He whistled before handing the letter back to Jennery. “That is treason.”
Jennery, scanning the words, nodded in agreement before handing it to Birlerion. “I don’t see how it benefits them, though.” His brow wrinkled.
